


Reba's Dinner

by AVegetarianCannibal



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Dinner, F/M, Romance, before it all went to hell things were very sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 15:22:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15222077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AVegetarianCannibal/pseuds/AVegetarianCannibal
Summary: Sometimes a special dinner is the best way you know to let someone know you care.





	Reba's Dinner

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pragnificent (PragmaticHominid)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PragmaticHominid/gifts).



> For @pragnificent over on Tumblr, who asked for a nice moment between Reba and Francis where she does something for him and he’s moved by it.

 

He says he’s fine, but Reba knows something’s got him worried. Something from work? Family troubles? They’ve only been dating for a minute in the grand scheme of things and she doesn’t want to push him if he’s not ready to say, or if he thinks telling her would upset her. So she decides to do what she can.

“You’re coming to my house tonight,” she says over lunch.

She hears D drop his spoon against the rim of his bowl. “I am?” he asks.

“Not taking no for an answer,” she says, flashing him a bright smile. “Leave all the stress or whatever you got going on, come over to my place. I’m gonna cook a special dinner just for you. I think you’ll like it.”

He takes a breath and holds it, like he’s going to protest, but she just raises her eyebrows at him until he sighs in surrender. “What time?” he asks.

“Eight works for me,” she says. “How about you?”

He shifts in his chair, then picks up his spoon again. “Eight works for me,” he agrees, in that shy way of his that makes her feel instantly happier.

***

The doorbell rings precisely at eight, and Reba debates whether or not she should tease him for sitting outside in his van for ten minutes before coming to the door.

“Right on time,” she says.

“I… was a little early,” he admits.

“You took the wind out of my sails,” she says. “I was thinking about teasing you, then you just go and straight up admit it.”

“Oh,” he says. “I—”

She reaches for his hand and draws him inside. “It’s charming. I’m _charmed_. You’re going to have to get used to my sense of humor, D.”

Her gives her a soft laugh, barely more than a breath.

She puts her other hand on his arm and feels wool. “Did you wear a suit?”

“You said it was a special meal,” he says quietly.

“Special to me,” she clarifies. “Not fancy. I imagine you cut a very fine figure. May I?”

He hesitates. “Yes. You may.”

She slides her hands up his arms and across his chest to the points of his lapels. He’s even wearing a tie, real silk.

“What color is it?” she asks.

“Red,” he tells her. “Dark red. Burgundy… maybe maroon? Solid. No stripes. The suit is gray, almost black… if you were wondering.”

“A very fine figure indeed,” she says. “Come on. Dinner’ll get cold if we just stand here appreciating how nice you’re done up.”

***

She laughs as they eat the last of their grilled cheese sandwiches and canned tomato soup. “I told you it wasn’t fancy. It’s just special to me because it’s my favorite thing when I’m stressed. Now—don’t deny it. You don’t have to talk about it, but I know you’ve been worrying about something.”

He does that thing again where she knows he’s carefully considering what to say, stopping himself while he thinks it over. Finally, he lets out a little sigh and just says, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she says. “My grandma made it for me all the time. I mean, I know everybody’s grandma does that, but still.”

“My family… didn’t do things like that,” he tells her.

She waits to see if he’s going to say anything more, but not so long that the moment has a chance to become awkward. She touches his hand. “Well, I’ll do this for you,” she says. “Any time. I’ll even put the alphabet pasta in the soup for _really_ special occasions.”

She gets up to put their dishes in the sink, but he clasps her hand and draws it into both of his own.

“You’re too nice to me,” he says. He holds her hand to his heart.

“Not nicer than you deserve,” she says, leaning over to kiss the top of his head. “You believe that.”

“I…” He hesitates again, then kisses the top of her hand. “I’ll try.”

 

 

-end-

**Author's Note:**

> Entirely coincidentally, this ficlet ended up having 666 words.


End file.
